


give me a buzz, baby

by Child_OTKW



Category: Great Pretender (Anime)
Genre: Cynthia is evil, Dirty Talk, Drinking Games, Embarrassment, M/M, Makoto tries, Truth or Dare, Voicemail, light peer pressure, technically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:42:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27774772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Child_OTKW/pseuds/Child_OTKW
Summary: Cynthia took a delicate sip of her drink, leaning back in her seat as she watched him with unrestrained amusement. Her tongue flashed across her bottom lip, chasing the lingering taste, and an expression that was decidedly wicked slipped across her lovely face.“Mydare,”she started, dragging the word out teasingly, “is for you to call Laurent.”Makoto frowned, because that was too easy, and if he had learned anything over the years it was that no one in this goddamn team waseasy.“What’s the catch?”Cynthia smirked at him, pleased and a little fond, before it was lost to her excitement. “I want you to call Laurent, and I want you to leave him a…specialmessage.”Makoto stared at her for a beat, brain sluggishly trying to understand her meaning – before he flushed harshly.Makoto should have said 'truth'.
Relationships: Edamura Makoto & Cynthia Moore, Edamura Makoto/Laurent Thierry
Comments: 26
Kudos: 519





	give me a buzz, baby

**Author's Note:**

> This is probably shit, but I wrote it in an afternoon and figured I'd post it for the laughs. It has the bare amount of editing and not much more thought involved XD

Makoto knew, through the warm haze of alcohol, that his answer had been a mistake the moment Cynthia’s red lips peeled back to show her teeth.

It was just the two of them tonight, sitting in the dimly lit lounge room of Cynthia’s hotel suite. Abbie was somewhere in America at the moment, according to Cynthia, and Laurent was doing whatever it was the bastard did in between ruining Makoto’s life with his convoluted schemes.

The night had been peaceful, fun in a way Makoto had begun to miss, and Cynthia’s suggestion of a little game between them had seemed innocent enough in the beginning. But Makoto, like an idiot, had fallen for it.

Now, the slow growing smirk on her face felt dangerous, and it hit him like a bucket of cold water.

The woman hummed, her eyelids dropping in satisfaction, and she uncrossed her legs. Her glass tipped precariously in her hand, the amber liquid inside skimming up the sides of it, never quite reaching the rim but flirting with inevitability.

She leaned forward, plucking his phone from where it sat on the table between them, and tossed it at him. Makoto caught it instinctively, blinking blearily down at the green case, then up at her.

“Call Laurent,” she ordered, eyes sparking.

Makoto squinted at her, something not quite apprehension bubbling in his chest. He lowered his phone to his lap. “Why?” He asked, some distant corner of his mind stirring in suspicion, sensing the trap closing in.

Cynthia took a delicate sip of her drink, leaning back in her seat as she watched him with unrestrained amusement. Her tongue flashed across her bottom lip, chasing the lingering taste, and an expression that was decidedly wicked slipped across her lovely face.

“My _dare,”_ she started, dragging the word out teasingly, “is for you to call Laurent.”

Makoto frowned, because that was too easy, and if he had learned anything over the years it was that no one in this goddamn team was _easy._ “What’s the catch?”

Cynthia smirked at him, pleased and a little fond, before it was lost to her excitement. “I want you to call Laurent, and I want you to leave him a… _special_ message.”

Makoto stared at her for a beat, brain sluggishly trying to understand her meaning – before he flushed harshly.

His shoulders twitched, and he almost dropped his own drink as he spluttered loudly. “I – I am not – I can’t just… _do that,”_ he choked out, shaking his head rapidly, hard enough to make himself dizzy.

“No. No way. Pick something else.”

Cynthia pouted at him, but her eyes shone with devilish glee. “You said ‘dare’, Edamame. You can’t back out of a dare. It’s against the rules.”

“Screw the rules,” he hissed, looking away from her as his cheeks flared brighter. “I’m not calling Laurent and – doing _that.”_

“You have to,” Cynthia insisted, batting her eyes. “That’s my dare, and I’m not changing it. Come on,” she cajoled, watching him like a viper, “it’ll be fun.”

“For you,” he said sourly.

“For all of us,” she corrected, though her smile faded as she tilted her head in consideration. Makoto knew what she was going to say before she even opened her mouth. “Is it because you’re a virgin? I suppose if you’re that self-conscious about it –”

“I’m not a virgin!” Makoto snapped, his temper rearing its head at the remark.

“Then this shouldn’t be a problem,” Cynthia replied, goading. “Put your money where your mouth is. Call Laurent and tell him all the naughty things you want to do to him,” she lifted her hand, wiggling her own phone like a taunt. “Do it, or I’ll do it for you.”

Makoto glared at her, teeth grinding. Cynthia stared back, smug and indolent.

“I know you’re trying to manipulate me,” he told her after a tense moment of silence, pointing at her accusingly.

“‘Trying to’? Please, Makoto. I _am_ manipulating you.”

“Shut up,” he said, then bit his lip uncertainly.

He knew that Cynthia wouldn’t actually call Laurent in his place. She was stubborn and vindictive and enjoyed digging her fingers into people’s weak spots, but he didn’t think she was that cruel.

He could refuse, and she would whine and complain, and then they would move on to other things. He didn’t have to do it. He didn’t have to do anything.

It was just that a part of him kind of wanted to.

Makoto swallowed, his expression pinching at the sudden prickle of heat that shot through his gut.

He thought of Laurent, thought of his sharp eyes and quicksilver smiles, of his broad shoulders and the heat of him whenever he stood too close. He thought of the weight of his gaze when he stared at Makoto, and the incessant touching – innocent and featherlight in every way but filled with intent and calculative underneath the guise.

Makoto closed his eyes and imagined it, imagined whispering into the phone, saying things he would never dare to under normal circumstances. He imagined Laurent listening to it, imagined how the man would react – if he would laugh and delete it, or if, maybe, Makoto could affect Laurent like Laurent had always affected Makoto – and his breath hitched.

“Fine,” he said, standing up, preparing to go to another room so that he could have some semblance of privacy, but Cynthia’s leg shot out and blocked his path.

“Uh uh,” she scolded playfully, pushing him back onto the lounge. “I need to witness it to make sure you actually do it.”

“That wasn’t part of the –”

“My dare, my rules. Now, call him.”

Makoto huffed, fiddling with his phone uncomfortably. 

He didn’t want Cynthia to listen to him, to know what he said – but he also knew from the glint in her eyes that she wouldn’t let him worm his way out of this.

Quickly, he reached out and took his glass, downing the rest of his drink to steel his nerves. He winced at the burn, then sat back, hunching slightly.

“Alright. Fine. Just…be quiet, okay?” He muttered, lifting his phone so that the screen lit up. He unlocked it and went into his contacts, finding Laurent’s name easily, given that it was one of the only ones he kept on it.

Makoto gnawed at his bottom lip, darting an unsure look at Cynthia. She waved her hand in invitation, settling into place like she was about to watch a movie.

His cheeks went pink as he looked back down at the name on his screen, thinking about what he was about to do. His thumb jabbed the icon before he could lose the small sliver of courage he was clinging to.

The display changed, the call starting.

Makoto panicked instantly. “Wait – what if he actually answers?” He buried a hand in his hair, horrified at the thought.

“He won’t,” Cynthia assured him. “But if he does, I think you’ll be fine. You’re good at thinking on your feet,” she told him with a grin.

Makoto grimaced, placing the phone to his ear and listening to the dial tone with bated breath. He closed his eyes and tipped his head back against the plush cushion, taking a moment to compose himself.

He wasn’t some blushing virgin, nor was he the naïve little boy everyone seemed to think he was. It was just that he had never done this before, never called someone intending to leave such a message, and the fact that it was Laurent that would hear this – hear _him_ – just made the mess of anxiety and anticipation twist tighter in his stomach.

He could do this, he knew he could. He could show them both.

 _Just think of it as a con,_ Makoto told himself, and strangely enough, that helped settle some of his nerves. _It’s just another con._

The dial tone stopped, and Makoto let out a trembling sigh when he heard the voicemail message begin. He waited for it to end, for the soft _beep_ to echo in his ear, and then opened his mouth, ready to prove himself.

“Laurent,” he began, dropping his voice into a soft sigh, saying the man’s name in a way he had never dared to outside of his own bedroom before. “I was just thinking about you.”

Makoto placed his free hand on his sternum, feeling the frantic beat of his heart beneath his palm. _It’s just a con._

“About you and me, actually,” he clarified, “and some things I’ve been wanting to tell you.” 

He paused then to lick his lips, suddenly aware of the dry patch growing in his mouth. His fingers tightened around his phone case, the plastic rubbing against his sweaty palm. He ignored the steady presence of Cynthia’s attention and let himself sink into the moment.

“You drive me crazy,” he whispered in a rush, the words bursting out of him. “Not just because you’re a bastard, but because sometimes I look at you and I want to pin you against a wall and kiss that stupid smirk off your face. Or have you pin me,” Makoto said hurriedly, heart pounding as the image formed in his mind.

“You could, you know? Pin me. You’re so much bigger than I am, and sometimes I can’t help but stare at your hands because…you remember that day when you took me to get that suit? All I could think about were your hands on me, and every time you touched me was like torture because I hated you but I also wanted to pull your clothes off with my teeth.”

Makoto raised a hand to cover his eyes as his face started to burn. He didn’t even know what he was saying anymore, but the words kept bubbling forth and he couldn’t stop them.

“I thought about that for the whole day. You. Me. I wanted to feel your hands on me, wanted to know what you tasted like. You have no idea what you do to me – but then again, maybe you do, because you always _watch me,”_ he murmured, remembering all the times he had turned to speak only to see Laurent already staring at him. 

“I can always tell when you’re watching me. It’s like an itch under my skin, and sometimes I wish we could scratch it. Just – just have you sweep me up and drag me to bed. Let you have your way with me. Feel you against me, feel your mouth and your tongue and your hands and your _fingers –”_ he stuttered then, cutting off with a garbled, embarrassed cough. 

He swallowed, breathing shallowly, and he knew it would be audible. 

“I can just imagine it. I know you’d make it good, and I’d make it good for you too. Maybe even follow your directions for once, let you do whatever you wanted with me.”

Makoto stopped then, clenching his jaw. “Just something for you to think about,” he rasped out, then swiftly ended the call. He threw his phone aside and slumped forward, burrowing into his hands and groaning in mortification.

“Oh my god,” he said, voice cracking with embarrassment, “what the hell did I just do? What did I _say?_ Oh fuck, oh god, I sounded like an idiot.”

Cynthia let out a cackle, and Makoto peeked at her from between his fingers. She was folded over and her cheeks were flushed, though whether it was from the alcohol or his awkward message, he couldn’t tell. “Oh, Edamame,” she said with relish, “you are a _delight._ That was a little tame, not exactly what I had in mind, but still so much better than I expected.”

Her smile was sharklike, and Makoto hid back into the safety of his hands. Cynthia continued blithely, “Laurent is going to enjoy listening to that later on,” she tapped her nails against her glass thoughtfully. “How many times do you think he’ll replay it?” Mirth was thick in her voice.

Makoto grabbed the pillow beside him and stuffed his face into it to stifle his whine.

“I think at least four tonight, but probably a dozen more times before the end of the week.”

It was already Saturday. Makoto wanted to die.

“He’s going to laugh at me,” he said, muffled. Cynthia heard him anyway. She chuckled, light and amused, but with a knowing edge to it. 

“Oh, sweet Edamame, _trust me,”_ she purred, “laughing will be the last thing on Laurent’s mind after hearing your little message.”

He shook his head, looking up to glare at her fiercely. “This is your fault. I can’t believe you did this.”

“I did nothing,” she said, draining her glass, unbothered by the accusation. “This was all you, I’m afraid.”

“Oh my god,” he muttered, scowling at the smooth fabric of the pillow. “I’m going to bed,” he declared, shooting to his feet. “This is all just a nightmare.”

“Second door to the right,” Cynthia called. “Pleasant dreams! Don’t forget your phone.”

Makoto glowered at her over his shoulder, then grabbed his phone and briskly walked to his room, desperate to escape his humiliation.

He closed the door behind him and slumped against it, knocking his head into the wood and praying that it would somehow erase the memories of tonight.

Not that that would do him any good. Not with Laurent walking around with that recording.

Makoto scrubbed at his face, willing the heat in his cheeks to fade, and collapsed onto his bed.

He turned his phone off and put it on the bedside table, then rolled over so that his back was to it. Makoto clutched his pillow close and shut his eyes tightly. He curled his legs up and sighed, resolving to deal with this tomorrow.

“If I see him any time in the next decade,” Makoto mumbled, still flushed, “it will be too soon.”

When he woke up in the morning, pulled from his slumber by the streaks of sunlight pouring into his room, there was a voicemail notification waiting for him.

**Author's Note:**

> Might do a sequel with Laurent's reply, who knows ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> My [tumblr](http://childotkw.tumblr.com) is open for anyone who's interested!


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